


Miracle Pact

by Writer_Apprentice



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Apprentice/pseuds/Writer_Apprentice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conflict between the Autobots and Decepticons has reached a stalemate. Megatron is left pondering over his limited options in breaking this deadlock until an organic appears before him calling itself the Witch of Miracles. The organic offers Megatron a blessing, and now the Decepticon leader is left spinning a roulette in his bid for victory. The chances are slim, but he has been blessed with a Miracle. Everything will work out... won't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was bored and boredom was the poison that could kill witches. It was, after all, the curse that constantly hounded their endless existence. Lady Bernkastel, the Witch of Miracles, hated it and the game before her offered no relief from that empty and still feeling that gripped her.

It was boring.

Everything was _boring_.

Feeling no need to continue such a pointless game, the Witch of Miracles erased the game board from her sight. The pieces on top fell the moment nothing was left to hold them up. Their smooth, solid surfaces melted into clouds of deep violet, and they spread soundlessly when they met the wooden floor.

Bernkastel watched until the last wisp dispersed before reaching for a bottle of red wine that was standing on a round end table, which was set to the right of the armchair she occupied. Accompanying the wine bottle was a glass half the height of the bottle. There was a small puddle of red liquid already resting at the bottom of the bowl, indicating that the Witch of Miracles had helped herself to the wine before.

Likely a glass or two or three, as the wine in the bottle was nearing the bottom. It seemed that the game Bernkastel had been playing was so dull that the wine itself received most of her interest.

How unrefined of her.

The witch poured herself the final glass of wine. The color of it was the same as that of the armchair; a rich red with a mix of violet to give it depth. The bottle disappeared from her hand once the last drop fell, allowing her to hold the slender stem of the glass and give the wine a graceful swirl. The drink seemed to move in unison, away from the center of the bowl, coating the curved bottom in a seamless layer of wine before the legs formed. A fruity fragrance could be detected when the Witch raise the rim of the glass under her nose, indicating that it would be a good time to drink. She ceased her swirling and set the glass on the end table, allowing the wine legs to fully develop. A flower pattern of curved light formed on the table as the glow from a hanging lamp projected through the legs.

Bernkastel raised the glass and pressed the rim against her lips. One small tilt allowed the red wine to come forth and slip between her lips. A delicate sweetness met her tongue and was quickly followed by a dryness that left her mouth feeling rough. The wine flowed until Bernkastel lowered the glass. What remained in her mouth passed down her throat without relish.

Normally the Witch of Miracles would have had a plate of spicy food to accommodate the wine, but today she felt no motivation to conjure up any dish, spicy or not. She was once again left with that horrible emptiness now that her senses were without stimuli. Even the crisp chill of the cold wine glass was gone, as its temperature now matched the warmth of her hand. There was nothing different to feel or experience. Everything felt the same.

_Tedious._

Returning the glass to the end table, Bernkastel stood up from the armchair and vanished. Maybe she could find something to entertain her in the Sea of Kakera.

* * *

Millions of crystal fragments floated aimlessly in the great Sea of Kakera, each one containing an entire universe beneath the polished facets. Every scenario of every universe existed together in this sea without boundaries. The fragments numbered to infinity with more residing beyond the veil that obscured the distance of the Sea.

Bernkastel's form materialized in the Sea and slowly drifted down where her black Mary Janes touched the featureless bottom. She had visited the Sea of Kakera more times than she cared to remember, some of those visits yielding enjoyable results. Hopefully this visit would break the monotony of her existence once again.

Without moving her limbs or her body, the Witch of Miracles summoned forth the fragments closest to her. Twenty pristine shards came to her call and formed a semicircle in front of her. It only took her a fraction of a second to peer into those twenty universes before they returned to their aimless wandering across the Sea. The Witch of Miracles rejected all of them for they failed to hold a fraction of time's worth of entertainment. Thus began her task of picking and appraising through the realm of infinite worlds. The number of rejected worlds grew exponentially with the Witch of Miracles gathering an increasing amount of fragments only to move onto another gathering.

Then she stopped and no more fragments came to her.

She was being foolish to expect that humans would continue to provide her entertainment. All the fragments she inspected were solely focused on humans and their frivolous lives. Every one of these fragments around her was… human, and there was a limitation to that.

No matter how many times probability would change the course of events and the pieces on the game board; the human element was always to be the defining factor. Human emotions, thoughts, and cultures were the limiters that would define the fragments. Be it star-crossed lovers torn by family feuds or human teenagers waving sticks and screaming spells, the motivations and reasoning were purely human. Envy, love, greed, fear… all of them were so… human.

For witches that could live forever, eventually the stories would begin to meld and nothing would be entertaining.

She needed to find a world not defined by humans.

Not knowing where to go, the Witch of Miracles simply rose above the bottom of the Sea of Kakera and slowly spun in place. Hey eyes were closed and they continued to be so when Bernkastel decided to drift forward. She would leave everything to chance in her search for a decent fragment.

Eventually she felt the need to descended, and she did not open her eyes until she felt the soft bottom of the Sea press against the heels of her shoes.

In front of her was a fragment the size of a fist half a meter away. There was nothing about the fragment that made it discernible from all its neighbors. No cuts, chips, cracks, or deviant coloration. It was as pristine and perfect as all the fragments she had observed. However, the Witch of Miracles was not above inspecting a possibility to escape boredom.

The fragment came toward Bernkastel and levitated an inch over her outstretched palm. It idly rotated on a single axis as faint shapes flickered across the crystalline faces. The Witch of Miracles brought the fragment up to her eye level and peered within.

There was a planet made purely of metal, an inhuman world of alien beauty with lights that blazed from towering spires. Great seas of strange liquids decorated the planet's surface. What attracted her the most were the residents of the planet. She could only best describe them as human in suits of armor.

No, that wasn't right. She could see joints and pistons beneath their metal plating that bent, rolled and pumped to bring graceful movements from what would be burdensome bodies. They were more like living suits of armor that had wills of their own. This was… different.

The inhabitants, though not immortal, lived very long lives… and none of them were bored. How they managed that sparked Bernkastel's curiosity, and she was not one to easily release that feeling. She would continue to hold onto her curiosity until she left feeling satisfied that she had learned all there was to learn.

She continued to observe, their long history drawing out on the fragment's surface. Just like the humans, this fragment was not immune to war. Their peaceful existence had shattered so that death and suffering could lord over them.

She could see two major factions in opposition to each other. Resentment ran deep between them and it seemed the destinies of their leaders were intertwined, as if they were fated to battle. Both had eyes that glowed as bright as the Truths, one red and one blue. Within the glow burned a passion to see the other fall.

The only problem was that they were evenly matched. Their battles, though spectacular, were stalemates overall, with neither side gaining or losing ground. Such a war might continue until all the stars in their universe burned out and there was nothing left to rule over but the darkness.

An idea slipped into the witch's mind like a long-lost friend making a surprise visit.

It was welcome.

Satisfied with her find, the Witch of Miracles now clutched the fragment in her hand and vanished without a trace.

* * *

Another battle come and gone, but this time it ended with a victory. The Decepticons managed to secure an energon mine and refinery, as well as repel an Autobot assault on one of their base. Yet he wasn't pleased. All those victories meant nothing to Megatron while that damnable Optimus Prime still functioned. The Decepticon leader could feel his fluids boil and frame bristle whenever he heard the first syllable of that designation uttered.

Under Optimus' leadership, the Autobots have counteracted his advances. For every step he made, the Autobots now pushed him back an equal amount. However, the same was true for them.

That didn't matter. A stalemate was simply defeat with another designation for Megatron, and he wasn't going to tolerate it. He had to find a way to outwit or overpower Optimus. Something to break this lock on the War. Maybe a new weapon, new tactics…

"Maybe it is a miracle that you ask for," came an even, refined voice.

Megatron swung his right arm around, fusion cannon still attached, to see a sight that gave him pause. Floating in front of him was a minuscule creature barely the size of his palm. He could already tell that it was an organic, but he knew of no organic race that could keep gravity from pulling it down while being stationary in the air. There was no sign of it using advance technology, either, other than the flowing, knee-length garment it wore.

"I expected my guards to have a little more discipline and skill, and not allow even an organic as small as you to come here," Megatron spoke, his voice low, and masking the initial shock he experienced. The barrel of his fusion cannon still pointed at the creature. "Tell me, organic, what brings you here."

The floating organic stared at him with unblinking purple optics. It unnerved Megatron to see that the organic's optics seemed almost void of emotion. They were like pools of infinite depth, but that was all there was in them. Unlike Cybertronians, organic optics did not glow, and the Decepticon leader felt like he was talking more to a corpse than a living being. He failed to read anything from the organic's face, though it seemed unfazed by the fact that it had a lethal weapon pointed in its direction. Either the organic was foolish or arrogant.

For some reason, Megatron could feel his spark rate rise the longer he gazed into those purple optics. It was… unnatural to peer into something, only to find nothing in return. Like a frame without a spark, dead optics stared ahead. Except this frame was still… 'alive.'

The organic finally closed its optics, bringing relief to Megatron. He was quick to notice the digits of his right servo were digging into his palm, almost piercing the metal. With great effort, the Decepticon leader relaxed his grip. The idea of a mere organic bringing fear to his spark was absurd.

He watched as the organic brushed away a strand of that strange blue filament that fell from the top of its helm. Why it was so long, reaching down to the organic's waist, was a mystery to Megatron. Did it serve some purpose?

"I have noticed that you are in a very troublesome situation, Lord Megatron," the organic answered in that dead, refined voice. "You yourself wield much power and influence, yet there are those that bar you from reaching your goals."

"Perhaps I am, and so? I don't recall ever exchanging designations with you," the Decepticon leader spoke without a single change in his expression. A cool smile remained on his lips, even though he wanted to know how the organic knew that much about him. "It would be rather rude of me to not know whom I am speaking to."

"I doubt that you would remember much of me even if I did share my name with you," the organic said. "Know that I am the Witch of Miracles."

Megatron could barely tolerate such arrogance directed toward him. He would usually make examples of mechs that thought themselves above their position. However, this organic was entertaining and he felt no need to be a terrible host.

"A… witch?" he repeated the alien word slowly, unaccustomed to how it projected from his voice box.

"You are one who holds a strong desire to succeed," the Witch of Miracles continued. "I would not mind granting you the means to fulfill that desire."

"You? A minuscle organic smaller than the palm of my hand? You believe that you can assist me in this war?" Megatron guffawed. "Your hubris knows no bounds, organic."

The Witch of Miracles watched as the Decepticon leader laughed in front of her without restraint. Her face remained unchanged.

The laughter did not last long when Megatron noticed that the organic remained where it was without a sign of offense.

"Fine. I'll play your game, Witch of Miracles," Megatron said, smirking. Surely the organic was bluffing. "And what would you like in return? After all, nothing is free in this universe. There is always a price to be paid."

"Continue to battle your opponents and learn from your mistakes, and I will continue to bless you with the miracle that will break your stalemate. That is all I ask of you," the organic said before its form dissolved from the feet up. "Oh, and try not to bore me, okay?"

Those were its final words before nothingness remained. Megatron's last sight of the Witch of Miracles was a smile on its lips.

It could be described as cruel.


	2. Chapter 2

Megatron found himself staring at the air with nothing but the four walls, ceiling, and floor of his private quarters surrounding him. The Decepticon leader turned his helm to the left, not wanting to appear as if he had been staring into space, but the corner of his vision still remained on that one patch of the ceiling.

It felt like something should have been there… floating, but his memory drew a blank on what it was. There was a sensation that bordered between irritation and curiosity that tickled his conscious. He could almost feel himself grabbing for that faint memory, yet it always seemed to slip beyond his grasp even further. The more he thought, the fainter the feeling of recollection became before it was nothing more than a slight buzz in the back of his processor.

Forcing his entire frame to turn around, Megatron was more irritated than he wanted to be. He was concerning himself with something that didn’t exist, and that needed to stop. There were more pressing problems he needed to look over. The War, supply lines, and troop morale were just a few to name. They often pushed Megatron to the breaking point of stress, which was then vented off during his battles against the Autobots. Yet even that couldn’t give him absolute relief. If the result of the battle was in his favor, then it pleased him. Any unfavorable result would simply fuel his ire.

For now the Autobots were forced to lick their own wounds, which gave the leader a small sense of satisfaction. He guessed it would take them an orn or less to fully recover.

* * *

If one were to describe a battle, it could be compared to a soufflé. When baking a soufflé there are numerous instructions and components that must go into making a successful soufflé. As a consequence, there are numerous scenarios where a soufflé can fail. If a single component is faulty or an instruction does not go as planned then the resulting soufflé becomes inferior. Rather than becoming a puffy and light cake, the soufflé collapses, or it never rises.

For the Decepticons who are celebrating their victory, their joy is similar to that of chef pulling out a successful soufflé from the oven. Now they can feast on the product of their success by savoring the light and puffy sensation of victory.

Drinking, boasting, and cheering are their ways to affirm the have indeed won and they have lived to see another day. This is similar to why humans indulge in eating. It is a way to affirm their existence, to continue their existence, and to savor their existence. The dead cannot, and have no need, to eat. This is what differentiates the living from the dead.

Now we must remember that this is a war these Cybertronians are playing. It is a fact that one’s happiness comes at the expense of another.

For the Autobots, their soufflé is the one that collapsed. A collapsed soufflé has an unappetizing appearance, and there is a saying that we eat with our eyes first. Rather than enjoy a fluffy soufflé, the Autobots are left with a deflated pastry with a taste that reflects its appearance; heavy, condensed, and inferior. Imagine the suffering and shame the Autobots are forced to eat. That is the consequence of their defeat. The loss and humiliation that followed them as they returned home with their heads bowed and their spirits broken. However, sadness and dishonor have ways of becoming tinder for fiercer emotions.

Hatred and revenge are born; hatred toward those that forced them to eat the inferior dish born from their defeat, and concepts of revenge to punish those responsible. There is a hunger that germinated in those enveloped by such ferocious thoughts, a hunger that tempts their conscious with excitement and anticipation. They could wait, yet they couldn’t. Every moment they spend to recover only arouses their hunger to ravenous heights. They want to tear, rip, and desecrate those they felt wronged them. That hunger they nurture with sorrow and rage can only be sated with a payment of life.

In the bigger picture, it really didn’t matter. Both sides would come to blows, and an exchange would be made. It all depends on who will return victoriously with heads held high and who will limp back defeated. Those who win will relish in joy and celebration, while those that lost will crawl in despair and humiliation. Happiness and sorrow, pride and shame, cheering and crying, emotions constantly being taken and given whenever the two factions battled. It didn’t matter at all what they thought. Eventually all of them will sample a bit of everything.

It is merely selfish mortal thinking to believe that one of those moments belonged solely to them or was denied from them. They never realize that for every moment of happiness that they are blessed with others must bear the burden of despair.

* * *

Just as he predicted, an orn passed before the Autobots were back in fighting condition. It was excellent timing for the Decepticons as they were becoming quite restless. Celebrations could only go so far to distract them. They were soldiers of the Decepticons. Battle was what flowed through their fuel lines. War was the coding that programmed them. Death was what defined them.

Megatron once again gazed at the battle ravaged field. The air was clouded with smoke from flying rockets that soared to impact their enemies. Bursts of light flared across the landscape when these rockets struck the ground, but the deafening explosion never reached Megatron’s senses. He had learned many cycles ago to filter out such distractions while he commanded his army.

He was at the front with weapon held high. A war cry roared out as he led his army against the Autobots. Mechs of all sizes, forms, and backgrounds followed him with courageous abandon. Some had optics like cool steel as their wills were tempered for battle, while others contained an undisciplined gleam as if they had waited eagerly for this moment.

Shots were fired from both sides and beams of searing plasma flew fast and far. A few unfortunate mechs were struck down before they could see the faces of those that killed them, but their comrades seamlessly shifted the flow of their charge. Their minds were set on battle and nothing else mattered.

The two forces finally met and Megatron laid claim to his first kill. He brought his mace down on the Autobot in front of him. A satisfying crack met him as the Autobot’s helm collapsed from the blow. Sparks flew and fluids squirted out, staining Megatron’s frame. The Decepticon leader lifted up his weapon just as the corpse fell on its knees.

Another Autobot approached him, filling in the space of his recently fallen comrade. Without even waiting, Megatron swung diagonally, striking the Autobot on the side. The force crushed both metal and circuitry, rupturing fuel lines and shattering delicate components. The Autobot was dead before Megatron pulled back his mace, his spark squeezed within its own chamber.

Autobot after Autobot charged at Megatron, each one of them meeting their demise under the blow of his weapon and brute strength. He considered none of them worthy opponents, merely pests to be swatted away. His soldiers had similar thoughts as they made quick work of the remaining Autobots.

The Autobots ahead, on the other hand, were proving to be an annoyance. Taking refuge in and on top the metallic canyons, Autobot gun mechs fired upon the Decepticons. Megatron and his army were at a disadvantage as they were on a flat plain devoid of any cover. Within the canyon chasm, Megatron could spot a familiar Autobot. Plated in red armor and leading the opposition was Ironhide, finally a mech that was worthy of Megatron’s skill. If Ironhide was here, then Optimus Prime was close by.

Filled with glee at the prospect of slaying two mechs he hated, Megatron led his army to the canyons. The corpses of their fallen enemies crunched and snapped as their feet walked over metal and glass. The Decepticon leader, powered by zeal, ran ahead of his soldiers. Plasma fire flew past him, missing him with every shot the Autobots tried to make.

It was a miracle he wasn’t hit. Maybe the gods were blessing him. Maybe this was his moment of glory to wrest Cybertron away from the Autobots.

He came upon Ironhide within a cavern and the Autobot weapons specialist was alone, which pleased Megatron. He hated being interrupted while battling against a mech he knew would be a worthy challenge. Ironhide glared at him with cold optics. Megatron knew otherwise that beneath that tempered look the mech had a fiery temper and the experience to refine it.

“I see that you still side yourself with the Autobots, Ironhide,” Megatron said while he brought out his mace. “You would be a fine Decepticon if you join us. Think about the glory and fame that you can bring upon yourself. Why do you repress yourself under Optimus’ philosophy? You’re the type of mech created for battle and I can promise you a more meaningful life.”

“Ya don’t know slag ‘bout me, Megatron, or ‘bout Optimus. Why Ah joined him rather than you is for me ta know and you ta find out,” Ironhide growled as he readied his rifle. “But seeing that we’re alone, Ah’m gonna make sure you’ll never find out ‘cause this is where you’ll fall.”

“We’ll see about that, Ironhide,” Megatron chuckled and charged at the weapons specialist.

Ironhide fired a disciplined shot and the plasma fire flew toward its target with little sign of hesitation. Megatron threw force to one side of his frame, rolling on the ground to avoid the shot before returning to his sprint. Little time was wasted as Megatron continued to charge on, crossing the distance between him and Ironhide.

The Decepticon leader swung from above his helm, making a great arc so that his mace could smash into the Autobot’s head with the help of gravity. Ironhide dodged to his right, just in time as the head of Megatron’s mace came down. It met the metallic ground with a titanic clang, sending glimmering shards through the air.

Ironhide pulled back his right hand, fingers already curled into a fist, before launching it at Megatron’s exposed face. The Decepticon leader lifted up his arm, letting Ironhide’s fist smash into his armored forearm.

“What’s wrong, Megatron? Yer fusion cannon not working?” the Autobot taunted.

“No, I rather see you die while I’m clutching your miserable head!” Megatron threatened, pulling his mace out of the ground and giving it another swing.

Ironhide hopped back, avoiding the mace by a mere distance. He could feel the wind and hear the whoosh the mace made as it passed the front of his face. Megatron had missed, and now Ironhide saw his opportunity. He raised his gun, the barrel pointed at the arm that held the mace, and fired.

What came out could be described as a stream of steaming liquid. The liquid itself was clear and had no odor. The moment it splattered against his arm Megatron felt a chill. His arm went numb for a moment before burning pain flared from the area.

Ironhide wasted no time and charged at Megatron with his figure hunched and shoulder brought forward like a battering ram. The Autobot’s shoulder struck the frozen arm, shattering away the armor and damaging the delicate protoform underneath.

Agony coursed through Megatron’s entire arm, forcing him to drop his mace. The Decepticon look at Ironhide, fury blazing in his optics.

“Liquid nitrogen, a gift from the science team,” Ironhide said before giving Megatron a vicious kick that sent him on his back.

Megatron roared and snarled no better than a beast while he struggled to get back on his feet, but Ironhide was already on him with one foot pressed against the Decepticon’s front.

“This is where it all ends, Megatron. Yur not getting away and no one is gonna save you,” Ironhide spoke solemnly as he brought the gun barrel to Megatron’s face. “I hope ya made peace with Primus, ‘cause I highly doubt a slag-eatin’ piece of scrap like you will see him in the Well of All Spark for what you’ve done.”

Ironhide pressed the trigger and the last sight Megatron saw was a painful light.

* * *

All the events were played out in an octagonal chamber of grand arching windows on each wall. Eight chairs of gold surround the center of the chamber. Three of them were decorated with glowing lines of red, another three of blue, and two that sat across from each other was half of each color. On either side of each chair was an end table of silver metal.

Located at the center of the floor was a pyramid of equal sides as the chamber. Its base and height were no longer than half a meter. The apex was made of a crystalline material that seemed to shimmer with a spectrum of colors.

On one of the red-lined golden chairs sat Bernkastel, her gaze was focused on the window to her left as the glass played out the last seconds of Megatron’s life. His opponent stood over his unmoving corpse, fresh fluids spilling out from the smear of metal and wires that was once his head. Any memory of Megatron’s face could only be found in the minds of others. The Decepticon was indeed dead and it would be impossible to reconstruct his mind and the vessel that contained it.

Bernkastel closed her eyes and pondered over the events that played out. She noted things went more quickly than she anticipated and wondered if the Decepticon leader was reliable.

The Witch of Miracles remained as she was, sitting still as a feline. Despite their luxurious material, the chairs were stiff, as if tailored for entities of more solid exterior. Thankfully she had the forethought of summoning a cushion to be placed on her chair before taking a seat. The cushion was more to her taste. It was as black as the dress she wore with white laces to match. Practical and simple, it served its purpose well without unnecessary attachments.

The witch’s eyes opened once more as an image of an unconscious Megatron appeared on the same window. His limbs and helm hung limply in the air as if he was a raggedy doll held by the torso in an empty realm.

“It seems you require further assistance from me,” Bernkastel spoke. “Normally I would have given up on supporting someone who will be more trouble than they are worth, but there is potential in you. Therefore I will provide a little more help.”

“First is your opponent, Optimus Prime. The two of you are the same, destined to be embroiled in eternal conflict. Like any conflict, yours was born from friction. Both you and your opponent represent different ideologies that could not come into agreement.”

“Unfortunately, the stalemate of your war is similar to that of players abandoning the game board. This leaves the pieces to grope around without guidance.”

“Second. The nature of my power is similar to that of a roulette wheel. On that wheel is one hairline portion of favorability, while the rest are unfavorable outcomes. You may bemoan the unfairness of that roulette, but the world will restart to before you spun the wheel, and will continue to do so as long as the possibility of reaching that favorable outcome is not zero. It may take you a hundred years to achieve a spin that you desire, but in the end, if you do not stop trying, you may achieve that favorable outcome against all odds.”

“That is the nature of a ‘miracle'.”

“Third. Even with my blessing, you will not achieve victory as you are merely a piece.”

“Do you understand what I mean by that?”

“No matter how many blessings you receive, if you do not understand the workings of the world then you will always be doomed to failure. Your actions, no matter how grand, will only fulfill the requirements of a piece on a deadlocked game board.”

“In order for you to reach victory, you must realize the ‘motivation and reason’ of this war and unravel them. Understand the game board. Observe the movements and roles of the pieces. Then find the conditions for a victory.”

Bernkastel released a graceful breath, as if pondering the consequences of her action.

“What you do with such knowledge rests on your decision.”

“Like a handcrafted wineglass, you may choose to break it and stab deep into your opponent’s neck. Or you can try a most unorthodox approach by sharing your wineglass as a gesture of peace.”

“Then again, you can remain trapped in a static world to forever hold an empty wineglass. It will serve no purpose for you other than to be put on display, sitting uselessly in a glass box.”

Violet light blossomed from the table to the right of Bernkastel. It quickly dimmed and there was a porcelain teacup and saucer sitting on the tabletop. The cup was already filled; a light amber liquid gently steaming inside. Usually there would be a host to greet and attend to a visiting Witch like her. Knowing that she was alone, the Witch of Miracles served herself.

“I hope you do not have the naive idea that I am here to form an alliance with you. Understand that I am a Witch.” she said, grasping the arched handle of the cup to raise it to her lips. “I have merely tipped the scales to break this world from its deadlock. I do not intend to violate the rules of this world, as long as it continues to entertain me.”

The Witch of Miracles took a sip of tea from the delicately curved rim of the teacup.

“Boredom is the poison that can kill me. I merely wandered into this world with the purpose of escaping it.” Bernkastel spoke as she lowered the cup onto her lap, both hands now grasping the bell curved body. “I have given you a humble gift to ensure your victory, so give it your best shot.”

 “…I wonder what tales you will weave as my piece. And for those who have made it this far…”

The Witch’s lips curved upwards like a crescent moon.

“I congratulate all of you.”

A soft giggle graced the chamber. It was childlike, but by no means innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some 'miracle', he's already dead.


End file.
